Dominant Species Volume Three -- Acquired Traits (24 page)

Joan’s
arms went out in front of her as if to ward off some invisible attacker, then
they started to flap at the air as if the thing was right on her. She turned
and tried to run but the broad beam of the weapon was all around her and stayed
on her as she dodged back and forth, stamping her feet and waving her arms. Her
scream was high-pitched, pitiful and blessedly short. She fell to the ground,
flailed for a moment, then died. Fabino screamed, too, as the beam splashed
over him, searing him from the inside out—quite by accident.

John
could see the slight interference pattern, like heat waves, but horizontal, as
the weapon’s energy filled the air in front of the shelter. The beam drifted
over Joan’s steaming body, heating it like meat in a cooker.

They’d
seen it all from the window. “Christ!” Donna screamed. She turned in a circle,
not quite sure which way to bolt.

Rachel
went to her knees and scooted under the table.

Suddenly
the beam and the sound were gone. John could see the team marching forward as
if invulnerable. The one holding the heavy weapon was slightly ahead of the
other two, his feet pointed out and his legs wide. They were moving up to get a
better angle on the shelter, to broadside it. The one in front had a big smile
on his face. It crossed John’s mind, just briefly, that a big, ugly and
fearsome weapon like that might make you stupid with a sense of power—very
stupid.

He moved
quickly to the doorway and shouldered his rifle. He put the crosshairs in the
leading man’s chest and fired a single shot. A red mist filled the air behind
the soldier, and he crumbled forward, his arms and torso tangled with the
weapon. John fixed his sights on the one on the right and fired. The first shot
hit the man’s face and his head burst with a cloud of blood and bone. As he was
falling, the second shot hit him high in the chest and he fell flat. The third
soldier was already running for cover. John put the crosshairs on his back and
fired. The man fell while running, limp and dead.

Fabino
was still alive. He lay there, legs splayed, his body vibrating from shock.
John put the rifle’s sights on his head and fired. Next, he trained his rifle on
the horrid cannon itself. He shot a dozen rounds into it, sending pieces of it
flying, leaving it smoking and throwing sparks.

The truck
was just outside the door and a few meters west.

They
could make it if they moved now. John grabbed the soldiers' weapons and tossed
one to Eddie and one to Rachel.

“What am
I supposed to do with this?” she asked.

“Just
hold it for me, goddamn it!”

He gave a
quick look up and down the street. It was still clear, but wouldn’t be for
long. “Get in the truck! Go!”

They scrambled
under his rifle, down the steps and into the truck. He ran out after them and
clamored into the driver’s seat. He turned the vehicle on, jammed the wheel
right and the accelerator to the floor. The tires raised a cloud of debris as
the truck sped off.

“Where
to!” Donna yelled over the tire’s scrabbling.

“Anywhere!”
he yelled back.

The truck
bounced over the uneven ground, sending the occupants banging against the
ceiling. When he reached the end of the street, he turned east and headed out
across the clearing. Two soldiers watched the truck speed by with mild
interest, too ignorant to know the quarry they sought was inside it. “Slow
down!” one of them yelled.

“Where
are we going?” Rachel yelled.

“As far
away as we can get!”

They’d
gone about half a kilometer when the armored transport raced up on them from
behind. It came up so fast Rachel would have missed it if she hadn’t been
looking behind them. The craft buzzed past low enough to touch. The suspensor
fields raised their hair and dragged across their skin like rough cloth.

“Damn!”
John said.

The craft
swung out and circled around in a long arc, finally coming up alongside the
speeding truck. John tried a few maneuvers, zigging and zagging this way and
that, but the shuttle wouldn’t be so easily shaken.

“Shit!”

“What are
we going to do?” Rachel asked, in complete panic.

Before
anyone could answer, the side door of the shuttle slid open, revealing two
soldiers braced in the door, rifles aimed squarely at them. It was useless.

“Stop the
truck!” one of the soldiers yelled.

John
slammed on the brakes. “Shit!” he said.

The
shuttle reared up its nose and stopped right next to them. “Get out!” the one
yelled.

“What do
we do?” Donna asked, her hands stiffening on the rifle.

“They’ve
got us. We give up.”

“Bullshit,”
Donna said. “I say we go for it.”

“They’ll
cut us to pieces,” John said.

“Get out
of the truck, now!” the soldier ordered.

Donna
spoke quickly. “The jungle’s just a hundred meters away,” she said. “If we can
make it, we stand a chance. They’ll never be able to follow.”

“Get out
and get on the ground!”

“Okay,
we’re getting out,” John said raising his hands.

He did a
mental calculation. He could swing the truck under the shuttle and be headed
out the other side in three seconds. He knew the shuttle model; it was sluggish
out of the gate. It would take a full five seconds for it to turn and get up to
speed. By then, they would be halfway there.

He
stomped on the accelerator, cranked the wheel and jammed the truck under the
shuttle. The suspensor fields cloyed at the truck, slowing it slightly. The
sound of rifle fire mixed with the hammer blows of the bullets in the truck’s
bed made Rachel yelp.

“Get
down!”

The truck
burst free of the suspensor’s mud-like fields and sped toward the green. They
were almost up to full speed as the jungle approached. Rifle fire reached them,
and John heard the hiss of bullets flying past the cab.

The truck
raced toward the solid wall of green. There wasn’t a lot to choose from, but he
picked the softest looking spot and hoped there were no heavy roots or tree
trunks in it.

“Hang
on!”

The truck
crashed into the jungle with a tremendous sound of branches and heavy vines
slapping and banging against metal. John kept the accelerator down as the truck
bounced and crashed and groaned through the thick undergrowth. He glanced into
the mirror and saw the shuttle turn sideways and slide to a stop just meters
from the hole the truck had punched out.

The
escapees crashed forward. The tunnel closed behind them as the foliage
partially reclaimed the space.

The truck
slowed, then came to a stop with a bump against something solid, tossing all of
them forward. John’s head banged against the steering wheel, stunning him.

The
jungle had swallowed them whole.

“Get out
. . .” he said. “Run . . . they’ll be coming . . .”

11

I
t was a dream. It had
to be. Nothing could really be this good. Betty had felt this kind of pleasure
many times, but never like this! This brand of pleasure was her favorite thing.
Before her conversion, it had been the thing she sought in secret, and the
thing she dreamed about. She’d been doing it since her teens with one group or
another. But it was so strange—she couldn’t be sure—she didn’t know if she was
alone or not. It was the strangest feeling. All she knew for sure was that this
was almost too much. She giggled in her head and felt wetness. This was the
best!

Oooooo . . . more . . . more . . . more . . .

The
pleasure wriggled against her from inside like a thousand slippery tongues,
making her smile wide and bite her lips. The pleasure was all around her and in
her, too. She felt as if she were floating.

Ooooooooo. .

At first
she thought she might be masturbating and dreaming of the others because the
touches and tickles were perfectly placed and perfectly timed. She was puzzled
but the mystery vanished in the darkness, washed away by wet delight.

It didn’t
matter. Nothing mattered. She smiled again and stuck out her tongue.

She
wanted to see and blinked, but she saw only darkness. Still, her tongue snaked
out to taste something she knew was there, without seeing it. Her tongue went
way, way out, farther, and impossibly farther, it stretched and she felt the
nerves in it come alive in the damp air. She tasted the air like a reptile and
found warm musk. Her tongue pierced something warm then coiled and uncoiled,
coiled and uncoiled inside something sweet.

Then she
heard a groan of pleasure that wasn’t hers.

She heard
it very clearly, and she knew for certain that there were others with
her—others who felt the pleasure all around, too.

The
pleasure shifted from one part of her anatomy to another and back again and,
sometimes, when it really got going, it was everywhere at once, like a warm
water, bathing her all over. Her nipples sent pulses of pleasure gushing
through her chest, her abdomen and down her legs.

Often she
was conscious of movement deep in her throat and between her legs at the same
time. And, from time to time, she would swallow, with relish, something thick
in a warm gush that kept coming and coming. There were peels of delight and
deep animal grunts of pure, wicked pleasure that went on and on and on.

More . . . more . . . more . . .

From time
to time, she was aware that hours had gone by in great blocks. The pleasure all
around her continued as the hours grew into more hours and those hours into
days.

More!

But as
time went by, the warm, buttery tickling between her legs and in her mouth and
up her spine turned slowly to dullness, then finally to grinding annoyance. But
the others were persistent and squirmed deeper inside like ardent snakes. Up
and up they pushed, demanding more. Now she wanted desperately to see her
partners. She wanted to tell them to stop now. Enough was enough. She should
get up and get cleaned up and get dressed. It was time to go, lovers.

The
grinding continued, the rubbing inside and outside would not stop. She thought
for a desperate moment that the others couldn’t stop, even if they wanted to.
They would continue to press and pinch and lick and suck from the inside. But
there were no more grunts of pleasure or wicked laughter.
 
There was only straining and pushing without
feeling. There were no more sweet exchanges, no more pleasure all around, only
empty struggling.

Now she
wanted to wake up. This was getting not so nice. She wanted it to stop. She
wanted to wake up.

Stop, goddamnit! Don’t do that!

There was
pain suddenly and the floating feeling turned to falling.

Please stop . . .

She felt
a growing panic that welled up and with it a clarity of mind suddenly flushed
of the drug-like pleasure and its wicked sensations.

She
remembered.

They had
put her here. The scientists had put her here. She had agreed to it because they
promised her pleasure—great pleasure. But this was not what they promised. This
was not what they . . .

Please stop it!

There had
been a shallow pit in the bowels of the monolith. They took her there and
showed her. They were friendly, yet not really friendly; and she had been
afraid of them. The bottom of the shallow pit had been covered with strange
plants with red centers. They had harvested some of the flowers, they had said,
and put them in tanks filled with water just for her. They had said it wouldn’t
hurt, and that others were there in another chamber lying nested together with
the flowers attached to them—to their backs and lower bellies and heads. She
thought it was funny at first and giggled nervously. They looked like they were
asleep. The scientists told her to lie down with them and to let the tentacles
wrap around her wherever they would. She wasn’t so sure so they gave her a shot
that made her want to do it really bad. It felt so good to let the plants wrap
tight around her legs and neck. Something pierced her head.